My earliest memory of him was being eleven in the early 70's, at an ice rink with my older brothers, & so many people wearing Harrington Jackets (our surname is Harrington), with orange hair and no eyebrows in Bowie style, and his music over the PA.
It was like a glimpse over a wall, a musical equivalent of Narnia, a moment when I first thought to myself "Oh Aye, I'm having some of this". The this was a bit of rock attitude, stuff your parents disliked, the fall from the nest when you find you have wings. It meant when punk came along shortly after puberty, we could go to raucus gigs and get the shit kicked out of us for the fun of it in the mosh pit and not mind, leave with ears ringing to get the night bus.
Then my mate Craig's big brother, trialling for Torquay United by day, robbed a restaurant one early 80's Saturday night. Thirty something grand in his suitcase, his head shaved & in expensive suit and shoes, he turns up at our front door, telling us we were going out for the night, "tell your ma you may be away a few days". We spent hours dancing to Bowie and electronica at DJ Dick's Dial B For Beauty night at the Rum Runner. Craigs brother was arrested the next morning, but it was the look of glee in all our faces as we danced together one last time to Lets Dance (of course) that sticks as one high point of that decade.
All my brothers have loads of Bowie memories, my younger brother spent a fortune on the vinyl bootlegs, and my best mate eagerly bought all his albums the day they were released, so he is everywhere in my life, so thanks David for all the great concerts, all the great music, a heartfelt thanks for all the joy you bought.
